Trigger Point
by Alpha Male Wolf
Summary: Everyone has their trigger points. Tim reached his. Rated T for suicidal thoughts and actions. Continued by request.
1. Reflection

**I started another chapter story... I'm sorry. But I need to write a Damian chapter for Broken Bonds and I was filled with dramatic ideas instead. So I had to get them out SOMEWAY. **

**Anyway, this is just a draft to see if anyone would want to read more. Let me know!  
**

**Reviews are always loved and always appreciated buddies!  
**

**I do not own any of these characters.  
**

* * *

Everyone has their triggers.

For someone like Timothy Jack Drake, these triggers were hard to reach.

They were buried and locked in the back of his mind, thoughts, soul, and emotions. No one can reach his trigger point, no one will see his face change with his feelings, for there are few things he have found worthy.

_Triggers._

A term he uses for when people act irrationally because of their emotions. The teen has seen people due this multiple times in his life.

For example, the way Jason came back to life and wanted to kill Joker.

He was upset. He thought that no one loved him- namely Bruce- didn't love him because he didn't kill the clown when he found out his trusted partner and son had been murdered.

Tim could understand this. He never did anything like this, but he could understand why Jason did it.

He always considered himself to be smarter than that. Not smarter than Jason, but to be smart enough to know that things are constantly changing. One day, you could want to curl up and die and then the next day you could be on the top of the world. And the same thing the other way around.

He was familiar with the latter of the two.

He had spent many hours, days, weeks, months, even years learning ways to cope with this feeling. That crushing feeling like everything was burning around him and he was powerless to stop it.

Tim thought he had found the solution.

But now, standing in front of the mirror in his room at Wayne Manor, he didn't know anymore. The 17-year old stared with an expressionless look, his eyes a blank and crystal blue.

He was searching. The teen that stared back wasn't him. It was someone who had been worn down, broken down, and beat down. Someone who had been put through Hell, brought back, and then put through more Hell right when he thought things were going to get better.

No, the person staring back was not him.

Tim took in a bigger breath, watching his chest rise and fall. Breath by breath, second by second.

Nothing could compare to a death of a loved one. That breaking feeling when you realize that you are that standing more and more by yourself with each day.

Tim was not a stranger to losing someone close to him. It never got easier. Every memory that you once had with them comes flooding back. Every fight, every laugh, every smile, tear, hug, talk… It comes back so fast and so hard it threatens to take every breath in your body.

Then you have to struggle back to the top.

And that's what the ebony does. Over and over and over and over.

But now, it's different.

Before, he was fighting. He would fight because there were people here who needed him to survive themselves.

It changed.

He used to fight for his friends. Kon, Bart, Steph.

They were all dead now.

He used to fight for his family. Bruce, Alfred, Dick, Jason… even Damian. So the kid could grow up with a semi-normal life.

Bruce was dead.

Or, at least that's what everyone has been telling him. The ebony knows he isn't. Somehow… he knows.

Dick doesn't care.

After taking the role of Batman, his older brother changed. He replaced him.

Dick replaced him with Damian as Robin.

_It still hurts to think about it_, Tim noted to himself in a monotone voice.

Dick cares more for some asshole, arrogant, stuck up demon child than someone he's known for years- who's helped him and fought alongside Bruce.  
Tim's hand clenched a little.

Jason… God knows where he is. The guy doesn't show much. Not that it's his fault, Jason's been screwed over like this before. He would at least understand.

_Damian._

Anger surged through the 17-year old's chest.

He _hated _Damian. He hated that kid with every fiber of his being.

_Hated him. _

He used to tell himself that the kid wasn't so bad. Maybe he was just misguided and needed some help to get along. Or maybe he was like Jason who had it rough.

But no.

"Sure, the demon spawn had to deal with some shitty parents, but who doesn't in this family?" Tim openly mocked the younger to the mirror.

A knock on the door.

"Tim? You in there?"

_Dick._

"Yeah, be out in a second," The younger replied, glancing at the door.

"Alright, hurry up though. We're supposed to meet Babs at her place for the new evidence that was brought into the station this morning."

There were the sounds of footsteps going back down the hall. They disappeared after a minute.

Tim looked back at the mirror and narrowed his eyes, the life coming back to his eyes.

In his left hand, he held a silver pistol. It was something he had gotten on one of his private missions.

It was easy to get really.

The ebony held it out, glancing at the weapon. His fingers of his right hand traveled down the barrel, the cool metal against his skin.

"Drake!" A shout cut through the house.

His left hand gripped the handle of the gun tight as he cringed.

_Damian_.

He felt anger through his chest, pumping into his blood.

Tim took in a breath then, his grip loosening and he dropped his arms by his side. The ebony pulled open the top drawer of his dresser, slipping the pistol back into the assortment of socks. He tucked it into the back.

Alfred never went into the back of the drawers. He always put the new clean clothes in the front.

He glanced up at the mirror one last time, his own reflection looking back at him.

This person looked like him. It was expressionless, but not vacant. There was a heart and soul behind this person.

It didn't matter if it was all faked for the others around him. It looked like he used to look like.

Tim liked it like that.

The 17-year old then closed the drawer. He crossed the room, picking up his jacket before heading out.

* * *

**So tell me if I should continue or not guys, I'll just be headed off to work now. C:**

***goes to write a chapter for Broken Bonds*  
**


	2. Shattered

**I am an updating master this weekend! I knew all I needed was a couple days off to start writing again. I figured I should update this one even though it was originally supposed to be a One-shot. I got so many kind reviews though, so why not continue it? It's pretty long and dramatic too so...have fun reading ;D**

**I do not own any of these characters. **

**Reviews are loved and hugged. **

* * *

Two weeks since Tim Drake was last with the gun.

"Hey Dick, I'm not feeling so well. Mind if I sit out on this one?" Tim had come downstairs after a rather long shower, hair still soaking wet. He had dark jeans and a dark gray hood that covered his face.

Dick glanced back from the Bat-computer with a frown. This wasn't a surprise anymore. His little brother had been asking to skip more and more missions with him and Damian. Which, he wouldn't have minded if this was a normal thing to do.

But it _wasn't _a normal thing. Tim is a workaholic. There's no way he would keep skipping out on missions when he had the option to.

"Um, sure… I guess." Dick turned the chair around completely, "Everything alright Tim? No offense, but you've been doing this a lot lately. You feeling ok?"

Tim just barely manages a forced smile and his older brother can see this.

"Yeah, I'm good. Just tired. But you and Damian got this so there's really no point for me to go." Said ebony shrugs.

The older knits his eyebrows together, and frowns just a bit more as he speaks, "Tim, you know that's not true. I always rather have you come with us. It's nice to have all of us out on the field."

_So I can watch out for you, _Dick thinks to himself before standing.

But Tim is already withdrawing, "Yeah. I'm going to be up in my room. Goodnight." He turns before his brother can say and more and disappears up the stairs.

* * *

Tim was a mentally strong teen. It was often that and his smarts that got him so far or even saved his life at times. It was something he prided himself in.

However, his mental status was often what was strained. Sure, he would get hurt during missions, and sometimes land up in the hospital with major injuries, but that was never as big as threat. It was when the ebony lost his head, is when things would really start to go downhill.

Tim was traveling up the stairs to his room.

It was nothing he wanted to worry anyone about. He could handle it. He always found a way how to. It was just the process of finding that last thing; that last thing that was keeping him strong for everyone else- or whoever left- around him was.

When he was younger, it would be a reassuring check with a loved one. Like Bruce for example. The billionaire would often notice something was very wrong within the first week, and set time from the others to speak with him.

_Just him. _

And Tim never realized how much he enjoyed those talks until he grew up. Until Bruce was killed.

When he got into his teens, he would talk with Dick. Mostly because the problems he was having were _because _of Bruce. The two were starting to not get along so much, especially after Jason's return. And Dick understood that. After all, if there was anyone who had problems with their mentor when they were younger, it was Dick. He and Bruce used to fight all the time. Most of the time they were on the same _team. _

Tim opened the door to his room and closed it softly behind him. Facing the door, he sighed, and locked it. The ebony crossed the floor to the mirror, glancing in it.

He watched the color drain from his eyes and he could see how tired he was.

He supposed there was one thing he always wanted. _Craved. _

And that was attention.

Growing in the shadow of not one or two, but three heroes is not an easy thing to do. He remembered when he was younger, he would work extra hard, train a little longer, do a little more homework for Batman than was asked. This was all to get a rare praise from one of his betters. Dick was usually easier to get praise out of. But even then, Dick wasn't around a lot when Tim was working as Robin. Well, for start of it at least.

The only person Tim got praise from was Alfred. Which was silly because the butler would ask for the simplest of tasks, like help clean the dishes or stir while he was chopping up celery. But the elderly English man was always grateful for the help and often reminded Tim how special he was.

Alfred was always a good friend. He'll never change. And that's for the better.

And… he was the only one who didn't get absorbed when Damian came into the picture. That might have been because Damian treated him like crap- he treated _everyone _like crap for a while. But that changed after some time.

Now he only treats _Tim _like crap.

Try as he might, the 17-year old gets annoyed by him. Even after all that's happened, with everything that's been going on, Tim Drake cannot get over the fact that little demon child has won over everyone's affection.

While Tim had to e_arn _that right.

The right to be seen as an equal.

The right to fight alongside Batman.

And the right to prove his worth.

Damian just came in and got that right without even trying. _Somehow _that kid got into this family and weaseled his way into all these rights Tim had to _work _for.

_He just gets everything handed to him. _

Tim narrowed his eyes in the mirror, coming back to reality then.

Listening, he could hear footsteps in the hall. The ebony could recognize them too.

_Damian._

Then, another pair.

_Dick. _

They continued down the corridor and down the stairs where they disappeared and were replaced by voices. They were soft because of the distance between the teen and his brothers.

Tim narrowed his eyes and unlocked it. He glanced both ways down the hall before slipping out and creeping silently to the top of the stairs. From there he can see the long dark shadows of the two. The fireplace that Alfred had set aflame made them flicker.

And the ebony can barely make out the words over the cackling.

"Drake is being an angsty child and isn't coming with us? That's a shock."

_Damian, _Tim grits his teeth a little, _you're lucky I'm not down there or I'd knock your teeth out._

But then, he forced himself to relax.

_Don't worry, Dick's down there. He'll set him straight. _

So he waited. And sure enough, his older brother answered.

"He's been a little… busy."

"Tt. And he was surprised when you replaced him?"

"I know…he needs some time off. But he's doing enough of that on his own."

_What the hell was that supposed to mean Dick?_

"Are you going to give him the news any time soon Grayson? It's been dragged on far enough."

Tim narrowed his eyes hard then.

_What news?_

"I know," Dick repeated, "But I don't think now is…the best time, Damian."

"Why? It's not like he's doing anything anyway? And this is a Dynamic _Duo. _Not a 'Dynamic Duo and Batman's ill brother'."

Tim gripped the banister tight.

_Dick, what's going on? Say something!_

"That's enough Damian. There's nothing wrong with Tim."

"Oh yeah, then why are you cutting him off from hero business? If he was perfectly normal, you wouldn't do that- he would be _with us._"

Tim held his breath, staring down at the shadows of the two ebonies. His mind screeched to a stop. Instead, he just listened. He listened for Dick to tell his brother to stop being absurd.

"He…he's not preforming as well as before, no." Dick answered, "I think it would just be better if it were you and me for a while…"

Dick had continued, but Tim wasn't listening.

His heart was thudding loud in his ears, the blood running ice cold in his veins, like frozen water had suddenly been pumped into his bloodstream.

_He's…_

No. No, this wasn't true. Dick had already replaced him with Damian for the Robin name. He already took that away from him. He couldn't take away Red Robin as well.

There was no way, _he could not. _

The two were still talking while Tim stood. He was suddenly shaking. _Trembling. _

The teen looked at his hands. They were trembling, a small vibrate in their stillness. Everything around him was blurring- all sound and sight. All he could see clearly were his hands and all he could hear were his thoughts.

No. Dick had to be kidding. He had to on drugs. He had to be brainwashed. He- He had to be –

Tim looked up as he heard footsteps.

_Footsteps_.

They were coming upstairs.

He had to move. He couldn't let them see him. Not like this.

The ebony wasn't aware he was running down the hall. Where was he planning on going? He had no idea. But his feet were syncing with his pounding heart. He had to move. He had to move before they saw him. He didn't know why this was important. But then again, the teen didn't know much of anything anymore.

Tim skidded to a stop when he reached his room. His entire body was shaking at this point.

Dick thought he was crazy. Dick was going to cut him from his life. Dick didn't love him enough to keep him in the group. Dick didn't love him enough to put that brat in his place. Dick didn't love him enough to do those things for him. Dick didn't love him enough.

Dick didn't love him.

The ebony's hand fumbled on the doorknob and he was able to open it finally when his tears cleared. When had he started crying? He wasn't exactly sure, but he didn't fight it.

_Fight it_.

God he was tired of fighting this. He closed the door behind him and turned the lock. His breathing was labored and the 17-year old was already across the room. He grabbed one of the cherry wood dressers he had and started to pull with all his might.

"Tim?" a voice called from the hall way. It was Dick. He must have heard him running. He was coming in to check on him. Tim started wondering if he knew he had heard them talking.

He shook the thought from his head.

No. Dick wouldn't care if he had. He would just tell him some stupid lie about how it was the right things to do. He wouldn't really care though.

Dick didn't love him.

The dresser moved over the wood floors as it was dragged. Tim's muscles were aching. They were so tired and he didn't know why. It was like they couldn't lift a thing and he only made the panic that much worse.

Consequently, the ebony started yanking at it. He choked out sobs that were catching in his throat now. Why was he crying so much? He knew this was going to happen. He knew it from the second Damian took over the Robin title. That little demon spawn took his older brother from him. No, Dick was never his older brother.

_Yes, he was and still is. He loves you. _This voice was calm and cool, nothing like the racing thoughts in his head. But it muted out at the end and disappeared. He closed his eyes and clenched his teeth, pulling hard at the dresser once more.

"Tim? Are you there?" The voice was close now, only a couple feet away.

Tim got behind the wooden furniture then and gave it a final _push _towards the door. Top heavy, it fell face forward and hit the wall with a loud _THUD!_

Not even a second after, there was pounding on the door, "Tim? Tim! Are you ok in there? What's going on?" Dick sounded panicked. The knob was rattling, but the lock didn't allow it to budge much.

The teen backed up, staring at the large cut the dresser had made through the door. It had gashed right through the white paint, like a deep wound.

Oh God, how was he going to face Dick? Now that he knew the truth about how he felt about him?

He knew the truth.

He knew the truth and it was killing him.

_Killing him. _

A thought snapped into Tim's head and his stomach knotted together. He looked over his shoulder, back to his other dresser.

The pounding on the door was getting louder, "Tim! Tim, _answer me_! What's happening?!" It sounded like he was kicking the door hard. The wood was starting to snap under the pressure.

Tim didn't have a lot of time. He walked across the room, his body stiff. He had stopped crying. No tears came down. His vision kept blurring. But he didn't notice it anymore. He knew Dick was calling for him. But he didn't answer. It was muted now.

His racing heartbeat was calming. It was slowing with each beat.

He knew there was only one other option.

Only one way to get out of this without facing Dick.

Only one way to finish this off.

Dick didn't love him.

And he had nothing else.

Before Tim knew it, his hands were shifting through his dresser. They worked mindlessly, pushing away all the clothes around. Then, he came to the object he was looking for.

Withdrawing the silver pistol from the darkness, he weighed it in his left hand, his right hand taking it by the handle. He closed his eyes and released a shaky breath, suddenly feeling a warm sensation spread throughout his body.

"Tim _please! Answer me!" _Dick's voice was catching. He sounded upset, worried, panicked –

_Scared. _

Tim did not answer him though. Instead he raised the gun to his head. The barrel pressed against his temple, the cool metal in contrast to his burning flesh.

This was it.

_Crack!  
Crack!  
Crack!_

Parts from the door were coming off now as a bare foot was kicking through. Over and over and over and over and over, it kicked and pounded and rammed the door.

The 17-year old closed his eyes and placed his finger on the trigger. He forced his breathing calm, taking in the last sounds he would ever hear. He tasted the air around him; it was thick but at the same time, freezing.

His lips parted barely and he paused for a small moment. Tears were forming again though he wasn't sure why. This was what he wanted, right? He felt happy on the inside, why was he crying?

A tear rolled off his cheek and dripped off his chin.

"_Tim please!" _Dick was crying out.

Tim just smiled softly and he could hear his older brother's rapid breathing that was now forming through the air.

"I'm sorry." He murmured, though it was no more than a whisper.

_BANG!_

* * *

**I decided to an asshole and leave it there. Don't worry, there's more to come? Any suggestions on the outcome of this? ;)  
**

**Thanks for reading and hope you enjoyed!**

**Have a great day!  
AMW**


	3. Broken Glass

**Surprise update! Yeah... I'm not reading through his chapter since it's late and I HATE reading through my own stories. So if there are a lot of typos I apologize, try to ignore them best you can!**

**I do not own any of these characters.**

**Reviews are loved and hugged.**

* * *

Everything happens for a reason. Or at least that's what everyone says. But not everyone believes this.

Tim Drake is one that does not.

He does not believe things happen for a reason. If that were true everyone would have a happy ending. There would be no pain or sorrow, because we would all know it would end up alright.

Or maybe, it happens so someone else can have a happy ending. Yes, this would make more sense. The fact that someone else's pain and agony would help someone else is the reason things happen. It is a chain reaction that the world loops in endless circles.

So, yes, then everything would happen for a reason. And maybe it wouldn't be the best for one person, but for the mass and for the long term.

This all runs through Tim's head as he feels a sharp pain in his shoulder. He is aware of the glass shattering just a split moment beforehand. His eyes can only trail to the window that is now shattered. His hand is shaking as the pistol falls to the ground with a _clatter. _His adrenaline he felt moments before is pouring out like the blood that soaking his shirt. There is a loud ringing in his ears and his vision is darkening.

Darkening and blurring.

He had lost his chance to end it all.

_Chance.  
_  
Maybe that was the best way to describe it. Everything may happen for a reason. But everything happens _because _of _chance_.

It gives Tim something to think about as he hears Dick's voice near him now. Two arms are pulling him into a tight embrace. He isn't sure how to feel.

Tired maybe. That would be a good start.

Dick is talking to him. He's trying to focus on his voice but all he wants to do is sleep. Tim knows this is because of the pain in his shoulder. It feels like a bullet wound. Maybe it is. He doesn't know, he suddenly can't think clearly. It's like he's in a weird dream.

He's being carried now. He doesn't know by whom, Dick probably. The 17-year old doesn't struggle. Not like he could if he wanted to. He's just so tired. And to think that it was his only chance to leave.

_Chance. _

How could have someone known what he was going to do? It didn't seem likely. Or fair for that matter. This injury hurts more than usually. Maybe because it's the feeling that comes with it.

He's going to have to face the facts. He's going to have to face his family, or can he call them that? Would friends be a better name for them? No, Damian was certainly not a friend. Dick… well maybe. That was more complicated. Alfred was a friend.

_One and a half out of three, _Tim thinks to himself as his eyes are already half closing, _If I round up, that's two. I guess I could call them friends…_

Dick is still talking. No, he was wrong. Dick wasn't talking. He was murmuring, barely loud enough for Tim to hear over the loud ringing.

It was broken up and tight. When did his older brother- _no friend- _when did his sort of friend ever talk like that?

He was taking strange pauses as he murmured too.

It took Tim a couple of moments to realize what was happening. Dick wasn't talking or murmuring.

He was _crying. _

Though the 17-year old didn't understand why. Why was he crying? What right did he have to cry?

He thought again.

Had _he _made Dick cry? That's absurd, his friend had said so himself that he didn't need him anymore. Tim had heard him, loud and clear. So why was he so upset? Dick had his chance to show him that they were still brothers. He had his chance to show Tim that he still meant a lot to him, but he gave it up when Damian came into the picture and snatched their bond away.

_Chance._

Tim closes his eyes then, giving into the darkness that is trying to engulf him. He hopes that maybe if he has a lucky break, he'll die from the blood loss in his shoulder.

He highly doubts it. Knowing his older brother – _friend – _he'll be saved. But Tim doesn't want to think that way. He wants to believe he still has… well…

_A chance._

* * *

Dick's mind isn't functioning. Not the way it should be anyway. He's supposed to be the one everyone can come to when they have problems. He's supposed to be the one who is always there to talk to them. He's supposed to be the older brother.

And yet, here he is; walking down Wayne Manor's main hallway with his little brother who just tried to commit suicide.

The thought itself is too insane. Tim is too logical for this. He's too sensible, as Bruce would have put it. He's strong; stronger than most.

Then _why_?

Dick held his little brother in his arms as he tried to keep the tears back. He didn't cry often. He tried to keep a happy face for his family. And when he did cry, it was silent.

Like it was now.

"It's ok Timmy," He kept murmuring similar phrases over and over again.

Trying to take the pain away.

Trying to stabilize something in this scenario.

Because he always thought Tim was self-destructing. Someone so smart and logical couldn't understand emotions like these. They couldn't deal with something like this and not know how to fix it. In a way, Tim was breaking down slowly over time. With every death in his family and circle of friends, something in his brain had chipped away.

And it led to Dick Grayson carrying his bleeding little brother to the cave for treatment.

* * *

Damian only lowers the shotgun when he sees the pistol fall to the ground. He watches from his perch in the large oak tree outside of Tim's room, as Dick breaks the door down and gets over the dresser easily. He watches as his older brother catches Tim and holds him close. He is clutching him tight and the younger of the two doesn't react. He just watches a spot on the carpet and doesn't even seem to realize he's been shot.

The shotgun is glinting in the low light. It was Alfred's; he only used it for emergencies. He was sure the English butler had no idea he knew where it was.

"You're lucky I have such a good shot Drake," Damian says out loud as he reloads the shotgun and glances back at the shattered window that was a good 25 feet away from him.

The reality has kicked into the 10-year old though he doesn't show it or even try to feel what emotions are creeping into his head.

He knew Drake was messed up.

He didn't realize _how _messed up the idiot was until now.

Damian's lip curls into a sneer as he shifts into a sitting position on the tree, "And you better pray Grayson and Pennyworth fix you, because next time I might be too late."

* * *

**Tada! So yeah, I think I have an incredibly mean ending for this story. I might use it... I'm not sure. But I hope this wasn't too disappointing from the cliff hanger I left you all at. **

**So next up are the steps of recovery!**

**Thanks for reading and hope you have a great day!  
AMW**


	4. Covered Damage

**Holy shit! I made an update! Who would have guessed?! So sorry for the long delay; I've been out of inspiration and out of free time recently so I'm trying to get back into it... sorta... trying... maybe... Anyway, hope you enjoy!**

**Please Note: I did not proof read this (since it's like 1 A.M. here), so if you see a typo feel free to point it out and try your best to not let them ruin the story. **

**I do not own any of these characters. **

**Reviews are loved and hugged. **

* * *

…_Beep..._

That is the first sound Timothy Jackson Drake hears. A high and electronic beep. Right away he knew where he was. And for a moment he wonders what would happen if he were to refuse to believe it were true.

After all, by all means he should be dead. After every daring mission and every stupid mistake he's made in the past; after all the villains and criminals who have tried and _yearned _to kill him in the past, he should be dead when he _himself _has the gun pointed straight to his head and on the trigger. He is far smarter than the common mad man in Gotham, he is far more controlled than the simpletons in the past that have run crime in this city and failed.

By all means, _he should be dead._

…_Beep_…

But of course, things don't work that way. Whenever you wish for something to happen, the opposite happens. And the same goes for the other way around. Most of his friends hadn't had such odds as being the one to hold gun, and _they _died. So why not him?

…_Beep_…

Instead, he is in darkness. Tim, of course, controls this darkness. If he were just to open his eyes, he would come to the light again.

But he doesn't open his eyes.

The ebony is content in the darkness. Because with the darkness, he can at least pretend. He can pretend that all went according to plan and that he was truly dead.

_…Beep…_

He wants to be dead.

_…Beep…_

He _deserves _to be dead.

_…Beep…_

He deserves to be-

_…Beep…_

Tim's thoughts _snapped _and he sat straight up, right away regretting the action as his shoulder wailed in agony. He let out a breath and his eyes cracked opened. They were met with seeing his legs, which he assumed was a good thing. Judging by the lighting, he could tell exactly where he was without looking up.

The Batcave.

_Just great._

The 17-year old heard a shifting move from the side of the room. His eyes looked up slowly as he heard footsteps. A shadow fell over him.

His icy blue eyes met ones that he knew well. His brother's own bright blue ones, that were now slightly tinted red and faintly swollen.

Anyone else may not have noticed, but Bruce taught his third child every detail of how a criminal's eyes can tell what they've done in the past and what they're planning to do.

_You just called him brother. Now you're calling him a criminal? _His own thoughts criticized.

They remained like this for a several seconds, just looking at each other.

Tim then finally broke off his gaze and averted his eyes to the metal medical bed he had been placed on. He just noticed the blood IVs in his wrists and he felt the heaviness in shoulder, which must be heavily medicated to dull the pain.

It wasn't doing much for him right now. He wished he was still in that darkness. Away from the other's guilty gaze. He didn't need his pity. He didn't need him.

"Tim," Dick finally broke that ongoing silence. He spoke softly and timidly and Tim's hands clenched hearing that tone. That was the same tone everyone used around him when someone he cared about died. He hated- _hated _that tone.

"Tim…I'm sorry…" His older brother was barely over a whisper.

Tim peered up at him from behind his bangs. His eyes narrowed and his fists trembled.

"I don't…" The 17-year old was surprised at how raw his own voice was when he spoke, so he swallowed and began again, "I don't want your apology." It was simple and he was proud he hadn't just erupted at the older.

He wasn't going to cry.

He wasn't going to yell.

He wasn't going to scream and shout and beg why.

Instead, he would treat this as every mission.

He would be calm and quiet until the time of questioning was over and the criminal left him alone. He would repeat anything the older wanted to hear. He needed to gain reassurance once more, or the torture he would have to endure for his actions would be too great for him to handle.

Dick watched him and released a soft sigh, "Timmy- Timmy, I'm _so sorry,_" He repeated though. He put one hand through his hair and closed his eyes, "I'm _so, so _sorry."

Tim looked down again, keeping himself from curling his upper lip up in disgust. He could trick Dick. He had so for long.

_Just tell him what he wants to hear._

"It's alright. You… you didn't know. It's not your fault."

_I wish I was dead. You knew that too. This is all your fault, _he looked back up at the older.

Dick closed his eyes tighter then and pressed his palms into them.

"_No, _it's not alright Tim. You can keep saying that, but it's _not _alright. It hasn't been since Bruce died and I've know that this entire time. I just…" He took in a large breath and Tim counted how many seconds he held it for.

_4...5….6…_

"…I just didn't think it would get this far. _Never _did I think it was going to get this far I…" Dick suddenly put his hands down and looked back at Tim, "I _predicted _instead of ensuring myself that you were ok by _checking._"

The younger was staring directly back at him. He felt all of his old emotions stir in his chest of anger, betrayal, remorse, and hatred and he couldn't hold them back any longer.

"You didn't _predict. _You _dug _and _dug _and couldn't find anything wrong." He could feel that icy feeling rise up his throat so his voice came to be much colder than either of them expected, "I hid everything from you. I didn't want you to worry about me because you were suffering enough by losing Bruce. I didn't want you to have deal with anything else. So I hid it perfectly so you would _never _see it. All I asked was for you to be there when I did feel like breaking down. That's all I needed Dick and now I realize that I wasted all of that time; all of my _own _suffering because you never cared from the start." He snapped at the end. No tears burned in his eyes though his throat tightened.

Dick stared, eyes wide. His lips were parted like he wanted to speak, his tongue was frozen solid. No words came. He didn't blink or even breathe for the longest time. He just stared. His fingers trembled and twitched as he did so.

Tim looked away once more, his black strands hanging over his line of vision.

_Way to go. Now he's never going to think its ok to leave you alone. He'll dig even deeper. He'll never stop digging._

Still, no words were spoken. And Tim _hated _that feeling almost as much as hearing that tone Dick used before. He had to break this silence. Say something to fix this.

_Say anything._

"I need pain relievers." Tim bit, his voice still vicious and filled with hate.

_Pull it in; he's never going to talk to you if you ask like that-_

"But…" Dick's voice broke his thoughts, his voice small and vulnerable, and the 17-year old glanced up because of that.

"Y-You've had the maximum amount already- you- you could get sick if you-"

"I'll be fine!" The younger snapped again, almost immediately regretting it.

Silence once more and Tim wanted to scream just to break it again.

But Dick then turned slowly. He stepped back towards the stairwell that led to the secret entrance of the cave. His footsteps left small taps against the metal flooring as he crossed the room and ascended up the stairs.

Tim didn't looked back up until he heard the door close. He then released a shaky breath and closed his eyes, running a hand through his hair.

_You're such an idiot! You're a moron! A complete moron!_

He gave a frustrated growl and yanked at his hair, "You're an _idiot!_" He flopped back on the medical table, ignoring the pain in his shoulder as he hit it.

The 17-year old ripped out his IVs, first the right, then the left. He felt the warm liquid run down his palm and drip off his fingers, his arms hanging off the table.

He felt stupid.

And tired.

And a little hungry actually.

In fact, he didn't realize any of this until Dick left the room. Until he was left alone in his own thoughts.

His own thoughts…

…his own darkness.

Hand and hand.

And he was used to it being that way.

He didn't want to change…but at the same time…he wanted to change everything.

He wanted to change but… was too scared to start digging.

So instead, Tim closed his eyes, feeling the dizziness of blood lose kicking in once more.

So he could be left in his own thoughts.

And his own darkness.

* * *

**So there it is! I'll be having a lot of Damian next chapter, just to warn you all since he's made a few cameos in this story so far. Also, a special thanks to **  
**kagome04 ****for sending me a message and getting me off my lazy butt to write the next chapter!  
**

**Actually, thanks to everyone who's reviewed, followed, and favorited! It means a lot and keeps me posting! **

**Hope you all have a wonderful day and rest of your weekend!  
AMW**


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